


Major Character Undeath

by SCFrankles



Category: Original Work, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, Meta, Small Hobbit I have the greatest of respect and affection for you honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:36:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/SCFrankles
Summary: Mrs. Small-Hobbit's birthday falls on Hallowe'en...





	Major Character Undeath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Small_Hobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/gifts).

> Happy birthday, Small Hobbit! Hope you're having a splendid day! ^___^
> 
> * * *

It was the 31st of October and Mrs. Small-Hobbit was in her living room—relaxing and celebrating her birthday by perusing a few fandom drawings on her laptop.

“Um, dearest…?” said Mr. Small-Hobbit, coming into the room.

Mrs. Small-Hobbit looked up from her laptop. “The dinner’s ready, is it, dear? I’ll be with you in just one moment.”

“No, the dinner’s not quite done. It’s more that…” 

Mr. Small-Hobbit cleared his throat. 

“You know I went out to speak to those rather persistent trick-or-treaters?”

“Hm?” said Mrs. Small-Hobbit, once more distracted by tasteful and artistic renderings of a semi-clad Richard Armitage.

“Well,” said Mr. Small-Hobbit. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, back towards the hallway. “They weren’t trick-or-treaters, in fact.” 

He smiled weakly. 

“Turns out they’re a mob of zombie Doctor Watsons.”

Mrs. Small-Hobbit glanced up. “That’s lovely, dear. But I would hold off from the cooking sherry for the rest of the evening. I think that’s probably enough now.”

However, Mr. Small-Hobbit was looking behind him again. “I managed to shut the door in their faces and I think we’re safe for the moment but—”

He looked back to find Mrs. Small-Hobbit completely engrossed in her laptop.

“Oh, for—” 

Mr. Small-Hobbit strode over, took the laptop and set it aside. He grabbed Mrs. Small-Hobbit’s hand and pulled her up. 

“Come on! I’ll show you!”

“What on earth—?” Looking somewhat bemused, Mrs. Small-Hobbit allowed herself to be led at a trot up the stairs and into the front-facing spare bedroom.

Mr. Small-Hobbit pointed dramatically to the window. “Look!”

Mrs. Small-Hobbit considered him with a furrowed brow and cautiously approached the window. She looked down. 

There was a pause.

“Good heavens,” said Mrs. Small-Hobbit faintly. “It’s a mob of zombie Doctor Watsons.”

Each zombie had a subtly different appearance but the Gladstone bags, the ink stains, and the modest moustaches were all unmistakable identifying signs. Some of the Watsons staggered awkwardly around like sleepwalkers, while others acted more like vicious animals. 

A Watson right at the front seemed particularly angry. Mr. Small-Hobbit joined Mrs. Small-Hobbit at the window, and he stared down at the Watson and shuddered. “That one threw a copy of The Valley of Fear at my head and moaned for my honest opinion. I escaped only just in time.”

The Watsons shambled even closer to the house and en masse began banging at the front door.

“They’re going to get in!” 

Mrs. Small-Hobbit led the way back downstairs at a gallop.

The two of them reached the hallway in time to see a slightly chewed greetings card being pushed through the letterbox and onto the mat. 

Mrs. Small-Hobbit picked the card up gingerly and opened it. Her eyebrows rose high.

“It’s from Mrs. Frankles!”

Mr. Small-Hobbit looked puzzled. “Really?”

Mrs. Small-Hobbit nodded. “Yes! And it says: _Happy birthday! The undead Watsons are a little gift from me to add to your celebrations. Hope this special day brings you everything that you deserve. Haha! Ha ha ha! Ha! Ha ha—!_ Yes, well, I think I make it thirty-one instances of maniacal laughter in total.”

Mr. Small-Hobbit furrowed his brow. “Bit of an odd present. But I suppose it’s the thought that counts.”

“Hmm,” said Mrs. Small-Hobbit darkly. 

“So what do we do now?” Mr. Small-Hobbit rummaged in his pocket for his mobile. “Can you try and talk to the Watsons while I phone the police? You’re the one who understands the chap after all.”

“No… I think I have a better idea.” 

Mrs. Small-Hobbit strode to her broom cupboard, got out a broom, and returned to her husband. She thrust the broom into his hands.

“Take that and waggle it through the letterbox. And yell every so often: ‘Mrs. Hudson is very annoyed with you!’ That should keep them off for a while.”

Mr. Small-Hobbit nodded with a determined expression. “And what will you do?”

“I… will go back to my laptop,” said Mrs. Small-Hobbit. 

Mr. Small-Hobbit’s face dropped. “Is this really the time, dear?”

Mrs. Small-Hobbit smiled. “I am going back to my laptop to _write.”_ Her expression became more grim. “Because I’ve got a whole July’s worth of dead Watsons to miraculously bring back to life and sanity, before they manage to break down the door.”

“Ah, yes. I see. The Watson’s Woes JWP fics.” Mr. Small-Hobbit paled as the banging and moaning became louder. “But dearest, how long will that all take? Do you really think we can get through this in one piece?”

“I’m _sure_ we’re going to survive this little episode.” 

Mrs. Small-Hobbit winced as the zombies’ moaning reached a crescendo. 

“As has been made amply clear, Mrs. Frankles does not really approve of Major Character Death.”


End file.
